


Sigrsæll

by adarbitrium



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Eivor is a sore loser, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Gambling, Strip Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27981339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adarbitrium/pseuds/adarbitrium
Summary: “You know, if you wanted to undress me, you could just ask, darling…” It makes Eivor snort. By all means, Randvi is right about her wanting to undress her, but it’s also a great way to pass the time until the rain lets up. Two birds. One stone.OR;Eivor is bored. Strip Orlog ensues.
Relationships: Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 227





	Sigrsæll

**Author's Note:**

> Sigrsæll: Victory.
> 
> Let's say this is set after the main story cause Randvi's room is way more suitable for playing strip games. No major spoilers, though.

There isn’t much to do in Ravensthorpe on rainy days. Sure, Eivor doesn’t mind the occasional lazy day, staying in all day with Randvi and only leaving the bed when it’s absolutely necessary, but it’s been going on for almost a week now. Sometimes English weather makes her miss Norway and the freezing cold snow. At least it wasn’t so muddy and gloomy. She has already sharpened all her axes, daggers and swords. She has read (and reread) all of her letters, answering them promptly. Hytham had lent her a few scrolls she hadn’t read before, but none could hold her attention for long.

Meanwhile, Randvi is constantly busy either keeping correspondence with their puppet kings across the country and taking inventory of the settlement’s stocks. Eivor doesn’t remember the last time she’s been in the same place for this long, and when the fidgeting gets too much, she starts following Randvi as she paces around and ponders how to answer Trygve’s latest concerns about the increasing number of Pict camps around Hemthorpe.

Eivor places a kiss behind her ear, curling her arms around her waist and pressing herself flush into the back of her.

“Please let me work in peace, Eivor,” Randvi sighs dramatically, lowering the letter for a moment to turn her head.

“How much longer is this going to take?” The blonde whispers hoarsely into her ear, her lips touching the base of her neck ever so slightly.

“A while,” comes the matter-of-fact reply.

The drengr murmurs something under her breath as she lets go and takes a step back. She looks around the bedchamber looking for anything, absolutely anything that might distract her from this despondent boredom that’s threatening to outright _kill her_.

Her eyes land on a little wooden box on the table and she grins.

“Are you familiar with the game of strip Orlog?” Eivor says abruptly, voice teasing as she moves to get her dice set. She can practically _hear_ Randvi rolling her eyes. “It’s a variation unique to the clans of the far North.” She sets the wooden box on the bed, pours its contents onto the sheets and starts to organize the bone dice, the God Favors, the golden tokens and the small gemstones before Randvi can reply.

“You know, if you wanted to undress me, you could just ask, darling…”

It makes Eivor snort. By all means, Randvi is right about her wanting to undress her, but it’s also a great way to pass the time until the rain lets up. Two birds. One stone. The redhead sighs again when there’s no reply, but she eventually puts the letter aside and moves to plop down on the bed. “ _Fine_. If I win, will you let me work?”

Eivor grins and nods. Her father had taught her how to play Orlog at a young age and like most things, she exceled. Surely there is no way she’s going to lose this matchup. She picks Thor’s strike, Brunhild’s Fury and Thymr’s Theft as her favors, a tried and tested combination that rarely lets her down. Randvi’s face is neutral and already in deep concentration as she mulls over her own choice. After a few thoughtful seconds, she lays out Var’s Bond, Skadi’s Hunt and Freya’s Plenty next to her little wooden bowl.

“You are so going down,” Eivor says, smug surety radiating off her.

Randvi raises a disbelieving eyebrow and crosses her arms. “Really?”

Eivor snorts. “Please… Might I remind you which one of us has bested all of her opponents across Norway _and_ England?”

“Might I remind you which one of us has spent the last however many winters strategizing and constructing war plans?” Randvi responds, completely undeterred. “My tactics are unassailable.”

Eivor grunts. “Heads or tails?” she blurts out, ignoring Randvi’s boasting and eager to get on with the game.

“Tails,” comes the reply as the coin spins through the air in a well-practiced arc.

It lands on tails.

“Ready?” Eivor asks as she glares at the woman across her, watching her like a hawk for every single reaction. Randvi’s nose twitches as she scans the dice, her fingers drumming along on the bed as she deliberates. Eivor has to fight the urge to grin. She notes the dice her opponent chooses and alters her own decision based on the new information after each roll. By sheer luck, she lands two hits by the end of the God Favors phase and even manages to take two of Randvi’s measly three tokens, while losing only one stone herself. She smirks, growing increasingly confident in her chances of winning.

“Come on,” Eivor laughs. “Off with it,” she gestures to the fox fur around the redhead’s shoulders while untying the belt around her own tunic.

Randvi shrugs, then slides the fur and her cloak down her back, folding them and setting them neatly to the side. Her eyes are locked with Eivor’s the whole time. She has seen her take off her cloak on numerous, not to mention utterly innocent occasions, but there’s something about the way she’s looking at her that makes her skin tingle with a sense of anticipation.

Eivor’s cockiness lasts one round, until she’s looking down mournfully at her dice. She pauses before picking to take a long sip of last night’s leftover mead she’s left by the bed as though she doesn’t have a care in the world and doesn’t need to think about her strategy. She looks from her pile of dice to Randvi’s, then gives her a meaningful glance, trying to raise one eyebrow and mostly just scrunching her brows a bit weird. She already knows she’s lost this round when Randvi’s arrows take away two of her gemstones. She sighs and starts peeling off her boots. They’re the second easiest thing to lose after the belt. Her wool socks and tunic would be next, but she’s hoping she can get Randvi out of a bit of hers before she gets there. To make it a fair game, of course. Randvi watches her carefully as she discards the boots, setting them down besides the bed.

“Alright there, Eivor?” she asks as the blonde looks over her dice and tries not to grimace. This roll is worse than the last and Randvi is not even trying to hide her amusement, grinning as she looks down at the situation. After carefully mulling over the possible combinations, Eivor decides to sit out the first roll of the round. She’s careful in guarding her emotions, especially the annoyance that’s starting to take hold of her, her face completely neutral.

Unsurprisingly, Randvi wins this turn too, freeing Eivor of yet another two little stones after invoking Skadi’s Hunt. The drengr rolls her eyes as she takes off her wools socks and throws them into the far corner of the chamber. _Game on_.

Eivor’s smirk disappears from her face as Randvi starts the next round, five dice with shining golden trim around the edges on the first shuffle. Three axes, an arrow and a hand.

“It must be beginner’s luck,” Randvi chuckles while collecting her tokens at the end of the round, causing Eivor to let out an annoyed grunt. The Wolf-Kissed watches one more stone disappear from her side of the battlefield.

Eivor sits back down after removing her tunic, trying not to shiver at the sudden coolness that seeps through her undertunic and she takes in Randvi’s gaze. Her eyes are glazed over, icy blues dark and curious. Eivor’s flushed cheeks contrast with the white of her knuckles as she digs into the sheets on either side of her thighs, supporting her tense body as she leans forward, unconsciously trying to get as close to Randvi as she possibly can without moving.

“My turn,” she says after the red garment joins the discarded pile of clothing on the floor. It takes her longer than she’s comfortable admitting to, but she does gather and shuffle the dice until six new little symbols lay before her. The drengr rides her luck to a couple of hits and Randvi is now without her tunic. She keeps her eyes locked to Randvi’s when she very decidedly reaches for the hem of her undertunic instead of her socks which would’ve been the more logical choice. She almost smiles when she sees her swallow, but doesn’t let that hinder the intensity of her gaze. Eivor wishes that she’d made her keep the jewels around her neck on. Next time. In any case, she looks wonderful stripped down and she can’t quite seem to look away from the mesmerizing valley of her breasts. Somehow Randvi’s fingers always find a way to her chest, just lingering there for a moment or two, trapping Eivor’s eyes and drawing them back if she looks away. She’s not sure what dice faces she rolls next. She could check, but—Is she trying to distract her? Yes, this was Eivor’s idea, but the implications didn’t really sink in until now. She has to blink a few times and clench her hands harder on the sheets to stop herself from reaching over and pulling her into a kiss. _Win the game and there’ll be plenty of time for that_. She opens her mouth to say something, but what comes out if a few nonsense syllables and stammering. Distracted and confused, she rerolls her remaining dice.

“Seeing something you like, my love?” Randvi teases while leaning slightly forward, giving her an even better view of her cleavage.

“I—,” Eivor stammers, cheeks flushed and mouth dry. Her mind is completely blank, no witty remark slips from between her lips, only a noise too primitive to be called a word.

“I think I’m actually good at this,” Randvi says instead. Eivor swallows the dryness in her throat and she doesn’t say anything as she shuffles her dice, but now she can feel her whole chest flushing red. She wants to reach out and touch, an impulse so sudden and strong she has to curl her hands into fists and let her nails dig into her palm properly to suppress it.

“Better,” she responds curtly, looking down at her bowl. For once, she actually does have a good set—a really good one, and even with her luck she’s sure she’s going to take away at least a few points once again.

“Are you going to make a move or are you just going to stare at me?” Randvi quips after a few seconds. Eivor pauses, considering. The redhead presses, “Afraid of losing?”

“ _Never_ ,” she says entirely on reflex.

Eivor watches Randvi roll the next hand while taking a sip of mead. She’s pleasantly buzzed at this point, but not quite drunk enough to be incoherent. Or to lose at Orlog. Although the odds do seem to be in Randvi’s favor tonight. She has two arrows and two axes picked already, and now she adds a shield and a helmet, all of them granting her a little golden token. They end up deflecting Eivor’s attacks while dealing a fair amount damage. As it is only fair, Eivor discards three stones. Sure, she can have one more round.

“Keep up,” Randvi says as she collects her tokens and then Eivor very obviously frowns at her.

She hesitates and does a quick inventory of what she has left. After pulling off her undertunic, there’s not much left. Well, the cloth around her chest and her breeches are still available, but… She shakes her head. After a few long seconds, she undoes two of the silver clasps in her hair and drops it onto the bed. “It counts,” she announces, a little too defensively. She still has at least three clasps in her braids, based on her estimation.

“You are cheating!” Randvi snorts. Eivor feels blood rush to her face and she has to avert her eyes.

“I am _not_. We never specified that these cannot be a part of the clothing at stake,” she argues, nervously rolling the tiny accessories between her fingers.

The gods must have taken pity on her because Randvi rolls her eyes and decides to just go on with the game. “Are you going to roll or not?” she says, her tone more amused than impatient. Eivor shuffles the dice quickly until all six of them stop rolling around.

She rolls hot garbage again. Four shields, an arrow and a helmet. What the hell is she supposed to do with that? She has enough tokens for Brunhild’s Fury, but it’s useless if she doesn’t have any axes. She finishes off her jug of mead as Randvi rolls her bone cubes, beginning to feel warm as the effects of the liquid course through her body. She eyes Randvi’s smug face as she scans the dice, before turning her attention back to her own side of the battlefield. Eivor rolls a single axe and a hand, granting her a grand total of one single God Favor she can add to her pile. She rolls the last die after Randvi sits out her turn and is disappointed at the shield staring back at her. Well, she’s seen worse hands before.

Eivor’s eyes narrow as she stares at Randvi, calculating the odds in her head. If she lost—which she won’t, of course—she’ll never hear the end of it. She calls on Thor’s Strike and manages to score two hits, resulting in Randvi losing her socks at last. Despite the comical amount of shields she has, the redhead still lands a hit, forcing Eivor to part with her chest binding. The drengr crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly self-conscious.

Another round. Eivor looks down at her dice, frowns so obviously Randvi would almost think she was putting it on if she thought Eivor was capable of that kind of acting and mutters “ _Skítr_ ” under her breath. She’s pretending to look at her dice, but she’s still watching Randvi closely and she thinks she’s caught her flicking her eyes up from them to look at her, half-naked already. She picks a few up with a hand that’s nearly trembling, watching the way Randvi’s body shifts out of the corner of her eyes and then shakes her head, trying to guide her focus back to the task at hand. She’s good at Orlog, _gods damn it_ , she hadn’t lost a game in at least six moons. She can do this.

“ _Fuck_ this,” she growls at the end of the round as Randvi takes three of her stones with a mischievous smile when she refuses to discard them herself. Eivor rises up on her knees to untie the string holding her breeches in the hopes that it might spare her a fraction of her dignity. There’s a faint flush at the top of her cheekbones as the string falls to the floor, but she keeps her breeches on, trying very hard to prolong the inevitable.

She can’t do this. She looks at the dice in the bowl and they’re terrible, outright unsalvageable and no matter how hard she tries, the chances of rolling anything better are minimal. “How do you have that many again,” she manages weakly, staring down at Randvi’s pile of tokens and her own, rather small pile and Randvi shrugs, like it’s nothing and palms the Freya carving.

“I think you lost this one, my love,” she says. Her voice comes out horse, lower than it was before and when her eyes meet hers, there’s a fire in them. _Oh_ , she thinks faintly.

“Fine!” Eivor snaps, knowing she was in a corner and seeing no other way around. _Gods damn, it’s hard to look serious with your arms covering your breasts_.

“You can forfeit at any point,” Randvi reminds her with a jab, bringing her back to reality. The smugness annoying Eivor to no end.

“Guess so,” she says as her eyes go from Randvi’s face to her bare chest and down. She sucks in a quick, sharp breath as her annoyance start to disperse, being replaced by something completely different. Maybe there _is_ a way to turn this around. And then all at once they’re both moving forward, pure physical reaction and their teeth collide awkwardly because of their smiles when Eivor reaches out to pull her in for a kiss, her hand winding into red hair. Her teeth dig into Randvi’s lip and drag, a little spark of pain and her fingers tighten in her hair as she bites back, her own teeth leaving a faint streak of crimson.

“I just wanted to spare you the indignity of losing to me,” Randvi replies before brushing her lips softly against Eivor’s in another kiss and dragging her down on top of her, dice and stones rolling off the bed and clattering on the floor as they move.

As far as Eivor’s concerned, she’s won.

**Author's Note:**

> Not me looking like the confused math lady while trying to figure out how to make a game or Orlog last more than 2 rounds. Not me googling "did Vikings wear socks?"
> 
> 1 kudos or comment = 1 extra health in your next game of Orlog.


End file.
